The Prize Read Free Page A

did to her...what he did
to Father?"
    Devlin blinked and
found himself staring coldly down at the fort. For one moment, he continued to
stare, ignoring his brother, aware of the huge change that had just affected
him. The ten-year-old boy had vanished forever. A man had appeared in his
place, a man cold and purposeful, a man whose anger simmered far below the
surface, fueling vast intent. The strength of his resolve astonished him.
    The fear was gone. He
wasn't afraid of the British and he wasn't afraid of death.
    And he knew what he
had to do—even if it took years.
    Devlin turned to
Sean, who was watching him with huge, tearful eyes. "He didn't hurt
Mother," he heard himself say calmly, his tone as commanding as their
father's had once been.
    Sean blinked in
surprise, and then he nodded.
    "Let's go,"
Devlin said firmly. They scrambled down the hill and found a boulder to hide
behind just off of the road. After an hour or so, four supply wagons led by a dozen
mounted troops appeared. "Pretend we want to welcome them," he
whispered softly. He had seen so many peasants waving and obsequiously greeting
the British troops, and fools that the redcoats were, they never knew that
after they had passed, the smiles were replaced by leers and taunts.
    The boys stepped onto
the road, the sun high now, warm and bright, to smile and wave at the troops as
they approached. Some of the soldiers waved back, and one tossed them a piece
of bread. As the wagons passed, the brothers continued to wave, their smiles
fixed. And then Devlin dug his elbow in Sean's ribs and they took off, racing
after the last wagon. Devlin leapt onto it, then turned and held out his hand.
Sean leapt up and caught it and Devlin pulled his brother up. They both dove
behind sacks of meal and potatoes and then they huddled closely, looking at
each other.
    20                             
    Devlin felt a small,
savage satisfaction. He smiled at Sean.
    "Now what?"
Sean whispered.
    "We wait,"
Devlin said. Oddly, he was coldly confident.
    Once the wagon was
safely inside the front gates of the fort, Devlin peered out from their hiding
place. He saw no one looking and he nudged Sean. They jumped to the ground and
dashed around the side of the closest tent.
    Five minutes later
they were lurking outside the captain's tent, hiding behind two water barrels,
mostly out of sight and, for the moment, safe.
    "What are we
going to do now?" Sean asked, wiping sweat from his brow. The weather
remained pleasant, although the gray clouds far on the horizon threatened more
rain.
    "Shh,"
Devlin said, trying to think of how to free their mother. It seemed hopeless.
But surely there had to be a way. He had not come this far to let her fall into
Captain Hughes's clutches. Father would want him to rescue her—and he would not
let him down again.
    The ghastly memory
returned—his father's severed head upon the ground, in a pool of his own blood,
his eyes wide and still enraged, although lifeless.
    Some of his newfound
confidence wavered but his resolve hardened impossibly.
    Voices were raised.
Horses approaching at a fast gait could be heard. Devlin and Sean got to their
knees and peered around the barrels. Hughes had stepped outside of the tent,
looking quite content, a snifter of brandy in his hand, apparently also
interested in the commotion.
    Devlin followed the
direction of the captain's gaze, looking south through the open front gates of
the fort, the way he and Sean had come. He started in surprise. A horde of
riders was approaching at a hard gallop, and the banner waving above the
outrider was cobalt, silver and black, its colors
    painfully familiar.
Beside him, Sean inhaled sharply, and he and Devlin exchanged a look.
    "It's the Earl
of Adare," Sean whispered with excitement.
    Devlin clapped his
hand over his brother's mouth. "He must have come to help. Quiet."
    "Damn the bloody
Irish, even the English ones," Hughes said to another officer. "It's
the Earl